Mary Dutton

For some reason I'm reminded of an incident that took place many years ago. I was at the Whitney, in New York, in the lobby along with scads of other people, and I was looking at some books or something, and a woman, not young (60? 70?), came directly up to me. Introducing herself as Mary Dutton, she explained that every day (I think it was) she came to the Whitney and something led her to chose one person out of the crowd. That person... ooh, what was it - something about it being good in some way, I don't remember. Anyway, she had chosen me.

She was a VERY interesting person. Her mother had been English, her father a Harley Street specialist who nevertheless was American. She was able, at a young age, to choose her nationality, manipulated by her father, who placed a British passport and an American passport on his desk, and said, "Now, do you want this plain old thing here, or would you like to have this wonderful *American* passport with the eagle on it?" Of course, she chose the American passport and pleased her father. I can't remember much else, except I did subsequently speak with her on the telephone, and she was very nice. A Christian Scientist, as I recall (not that I have a clear idea of what that entails beyond reading rooms and refusing medical care - an odd thing for the daughter of a doctor).

That was 1990, the year I had a show of my paintings in New York, got sick with m.s., and was rudely thrust from my marital home. Fidget died that year. That was an about face in many ways.

Labels: Art, Still Life